A Ministering Angel?

Joanne texted Sian, ‘Are you joining us on Friday?’

Sian texted back, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t, I have family visiting.’

Joanne’s heart sank, but not too far. Inviting and being rejected seemed to be part of this new adventure. She and her husband were trying to gather people who didn’t go to church but who had faith. They had created their basement room into a comfortable meeting space and were inviting those who came across their path to join them for dinner, some singing, a bit of a Bible study and prayer. It was hard going; people were positive but not consistent. Joanne and her husband knew not to take it personally, but couldn’t help but do so. It is painful when inviting people to spend time with you, but they find other things that are more important to do, however legitimate those things are.

She called her dogs and set out for a morning walk along the beach.

It was a non-descript day, grey clouds hung, but not low enough to create an atmospheric mist. The mountains of Eryri were visible as she walked out across the beach as grey blue shapes in the distance, the air was damp, but it wasn’t quite raining. The waves on the beach lapped languidly, a murky brownness leaving no indentation on the sandy shore. It was almost as if the sea couldn’t quite be bothered to do what it was supposed to do.

It was in the last days of August, when the air is hot and heavy, the plants had done their best and are weary, lack of rain, even in North Wales, had caused a general dusty goldening of the trees, fields and gardens. It was not yet September, with its cool crisp mornings heralding the beginning of autumn. It was the end of summer.

Joanne plodded on, her mind wandering noncommittedly around various issues, vaguely planning but not coming to any decisions or creating any plans.

The dogs were doing their own thing, sniffing amongst the high tide line of seabed debris looking for any tasty marine morsel, running about, tails wagging, enjoying the open space and free time.

As she walked, Joanne became aware of someone walking ahead. They were strolling along more slowly than she was, and she hadn’t noticed them before; she was quickly catching up.

She was in two minds whether to put her head down, keep walking, pick up her pace, give the person a wide berth and walk past pretending to be miles away in her own thoughts or whether to draw close and strike up a conversation.

Usually, she would start a conversation. She loved to talk with people, hearing their stories and finding out why they were walking there. Were they on holiday, visiting family, or perhaps they had lived here years ago and were back for a nostalgic visit, or did they live fairly nearby and had decided to explore new places? She knew most of the locals, by sight at least, so knew when someone was visiting. She didn’t recognise this person walking ahead.

But today she felt drained, her heart was saying, ‘Why is it always me who has to make the first effort. Why can it not be someone else’s turn to engage me in conversation, be interested in me?’ She knew this sounded like an internal pity party, even to herself. But she just felt worn out with always giving, always being upbeat, always being the one interested in others.

She slowed her pace a little to delay the decision time.

Then one of her dogs, who had been pottering along behind her, suddenly dashed past her on a mission to chase a group of herring gulls gathered on the water’s edge up ahead. The other dog, not to be left out, gave chase, and soon the two of them were barking and splashing around in the shallows, sending the gulls upwards in a flurry of annoyed squawking and flapping to the enjoyment and excitement of the dogs, whose tails were wagging furiously.

The stranger had stopped to watch. Joanne was close enough to see a wide grin spread across his face and hear an amused chuckle escape from his throat.

‘They enjoyed that.’ He said as he turned to face her. She stopped walking and turned to watch as well, allowing a small smile to play around her lips.

‘They are cheeky dogs; those poor seagulls were just minding their own business.’ She replied with a smile.

The gulls had alighted further up the beach, and the dogs, quickly bored now the excitement was over, had gone back to rummaging in the seaweed high tide line.

‘It’s a beautiful spot here.’ He gestured with a sweep of his arm, taking in the distant mountains, the Straits and the beach.

‘Yes.’ She replied, without venturing further comment. Her mind seemed to go blank, the usual flow of chatter silenced. But that seemed to be ok. It seemed right to just stand and look at the beauty all around without saying anything. For once, she did just stop and look around and drink it in, allowing her mind to be stilled and her body to relax, listening to the rhythmic lap of the waves, the gentle calls of the seabirds and taking in the grandeur of the distant mountains. Mountains which were rooted and stable, ever present, their distant, silent presence creating a security and strength. She contrasted this with the shifting sea, waves breaking and receding, tides flowing in and out. Often, rough weather would cause the waves and tides to change the shape of the beach, moving rocks around and depositing flotsam and jetsam in different places. But the mountains were always there, always the same, although you couldn’t always see them as such with the clouds that often obscured them. Joanne considered this as she stood silently looking out at the view which she walks past every day, not usually creating the time to just stand and look.

A verse came to her mind,

‘I lift my eyes to the hills – where does my help come from?

My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.’

A strength rose within her as she pondered that, however grand or small, however solid or shifting the environment around her, she knew that the One who helped her, who knew her, who she worshipped, was the Maker of all around her and was always the Almighty. He was so much larger, stronger, more and closer present than the mountains which she could see or the sea, which was friendly today, but could be ferocious tomorrow.

She turned to the stranger standing alongside her. He looked straight into her eyes, acknowledgement in them, as if he knew exactly what she had just been thinking. He nodded his head ever so slightly. Joanne felt as if he were agreeing with her thoughts, then he turned to carry on with his walk.

Joanne stood stock still, gazing out to sea, not daring to look around at the disappearing back of the stranger.

‘What was that?’ She spoke out loud to herself.

The dogs bounded up to her and were reaching out for and sniffing at the treat bag.

‘Did you see that?’ She said to the dogs who had eyes, ears and noses for nothing except the treats. Dishing them out, she realised she felt a little shaken yet elated.

‘Who was that stranger?’ She asked herself.

Then she realised that she felt calm inside, the strength which had arisen within her when she remembered the Bible verse was still there. The weariness and heaviness are gone, the internal pity party all forgotten.

She turned to continue with her walk and the rest of her day with renewed strength, returned joy, and a lightness in her step.

Is this what it means to be ministered to by an angel?